


Returned

by Aurondarklord



Series: Stormborn [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 04:40:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19221781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurondarklord/pseuds/Aurondarklord
Summary: When last we left our intrepid Mother of Dragons, she was being airlifted towards Volantis by her trusty scaled steed, following the disastrous and appallingly rushed ending to Game of Thrones.  She was also (SPOILER) dead as a doornail after randomly going bananas.  I refuse to let that stand, this incredible character and her fans deserve better, so I have resolved to the best of my abilities to make that so.  So where Benioff and Weiss leave off, we shall pick up, thanks to priestess Kinvara, who's team Dany all the way and waiting in Volantis to give our Khaleesi a jump start.  Stormborn will chronicle the continuing adventures of Daenerys Targaryen, beyond Westeros and beyond death.  Writing this story helped me cope with the sadness and anger of watching as a show I loved for a decade was tanked by two jerks who couldn't be bothered to give it the time and attention it required.  I hope reading it helps others dealing with the same colossal letdown.





	Returned

Daenerys gasped, almost screamed, her eyes snapping open as she awoke from an awful dream. She would have lurched forwards, shot upright, but her chest screamed in pain at even slight movement. She felt paralyzed, her head swimming as a thousand thoughts seemed to rush through her at once all coalescing into a single, horrific whole: it had not been a dream. She was not in her bed on Dragonstone, but instead a slab of hard, but hot stone. There were people around her, red shapes coming into focus. Intellectually she was aware that she was nude, surrounded by strangers, but that seemed a trivial concern in the face of such a terrible truth. Despite the blinding pain in her heart, Daenerys willed herself to sit up and to look at it. At the hole in her chest, through her heart.

It was a fresh wound, but it did not bleed. And it was the final, irresistible proof of the truth: She had died. Jon Snow had murdered her. He had sworn himself, he had sworn his love, and he had....rage and despair, as red and black as her banners overtook her mind. She might have screamed and cried, cursed Jon, cursed Westeros, cursed the very world, but for the hands that grasped her shoulders, startling her suddenly. "The Lord has brought you back, returned breath to your lungs and warmth to your body, for you are the one he has promised." The voice, speaking Valyrian in a thick Volantene accent, belonged to a woman she had never met in person, but knew nevertheless. Kinvara. She had made quite an impression on Varys. _Not impression enough_ , Daenerys caught herself thinking. Kinvara, the flame of truth, the light of wisdom, first servant of the Lord of Light. Such a strange thing, to try to recall her title, but it gave her something to focus on, something organized, something that could help order her mind. And then the second truth struck her harder than Jon's dagger ever could...WHY he had killed her...what she had done...the smell of burning flesh, the sound of children's screams, the horror...the horror SHE had committed.

Daenerys' world reeled and turned upside down, as she gagged and choked, and then thick, black, vile foulness poured forth from her mouth, stinking of death and rot as she vomited all over herself.

\-----

Weeks had passed. Weeks Dany had spent alone in a sparse tower room of the red temple. One might have mistaken it for a cell, but Daenerys was her own prisoner only. She opened her door only when she could no longer stand her hunger or the stink of the death-tinged filth that came out of her body. She had been a corpse for more than two days, though Drogon had flown so fast and so hard it had nearly killed him. The priests had told her she was fortunate, any longer and, had they even been able to bring her back, she might have been little more than a wight, or something worse. Even so, her insides had begun to putrify, and despite the power of Kinvara's magic, her body was still purging decay from itself, her entire back was still a bruise of pooled blood.

She gnawed on a crust of bread, but no sooner had she forced herself to swallow than sickness overcame her and she vomited into her chamberpot again, it was no longer black but still stank unnaturally, every heave wracking her body with pain. _I deserve this_ , she thought. The priests had been wise to quarter her in a room whose windows were too small for a person's body to fit through, the thought of rejecting the new life she'd been given had occurred to her in bleak moments.

No sooner had Daenerys been able to stand after her return to life than Kinvara's attendants had clothed her in fine robes, placed a golden crown upon her head, and lead her to the temple plaza, where a thousand soldiers of the Fiery Hand waited, along with Drogon. She did not remember much of what Kinvara had said, that she was Azor Ahai, born amidst salt and smoke, returned by the Lord of Light's power to remake the world, that her betrayers and enemies were still weak, and she would cross the narrow sea with the Lord's power at her back to take her revenge...it had all blended together as Daenerys, in her mind, was still in the courtyard of the red keep, speaking to her own army as ashes fell all around her. The things she had said, the things she had wanted to do, she still could not imagine those words pouring from her own lips, and yet they had. The only truly clear moment of the first day of this new life was when the red priests had brought forth Jon's dagger, the dagger that had killed her, now as red as the day it had been forged and wreathed in flame, carried in the hands of a smiling man who did not seem to care that holding it had burned his palms to the bone. That moment was etched in her mind, the moment when she smelled it again. Burning flesh.

She had vomited again, and she had fled, and wept, thrown off her crown and torn her fine clothes. And she had not left her tower since.

In that time, Dany's mind had run through every excuse and rationalization she could imagine. She had blamed Cersei for forcing her hand, Tyrion and Varys for betraying her, the Starks for refusing to bend the knee, Jon for not loving her the way she wanted to be loved. In these things there was at least some truth. But she had also blamed the very people she killed for their fickleness, for propping up Cersei in the first place. She had blamed Drogon and Grey Worm for following her commands...she could not even look at her child out her tower window...and in her worst moments, the moments that made her sick again just to think about, she had gone so far as to blame Jorah, blame Rhaegal, blame Missandei, for leaving her. Those thoughts only brought her shame. She had told herself the woman who did those terrible things had died and she was someone new, but that rang hollow. As news began to arrive from Westeros she even tried to convince herself that Bran Stark, now crowned a king by some circumstance so queer she could barely imagine it, had truly done all the things she had done. That he had taken over her body by some terrible northern magic and forced her, so that he could arrange her death and take power in her place. But that, she knew, was a comforting lie.

The truth was that her every fear had come to pass. She had gone mad. As mad as her father and brother. Their darkness, their poison, it was in her too, and it could emerge at any moment. She could never be a queen again. She could never ride Drogon again. She could never have that power...or any power. She could only take solace that Jorah and Missandei had not been alive to see what she had become.

\-----

Every twist of her hair felt like a twist of the knife that had been in her heart. Dany, clumsy and unpracticed but determined, worked to braid her own hair. She had refused the red priests' offer of their temple servants...servants was a kind word, they were slaves, and she would not be a master, nor could she stand the thought of replacing someone irreplaceable. But still, with every fold she thought of Missandei and fought back tears.

It had, at least, been three days since she had last vomited, and the swollen, clotted blood on her back was beginning to fade. She felt less...dead, though she could not quite put into words what being dead had been like. Guilt and shame still tormented her, and she assumed, always would. Sleep was fitful, and did not come easily. She woke up screaming most nights. But the world was easier to bear when she could at least keep her meals down, and Daenerys began to think about her future, to imagine HAVING a future beyond the temple walls. She would never return to Westeros, she knew that. They would never accept her as their queen now. _Nor should they_ , the thought stung her but it was true. But in some ways that felt freeing. The girl's wants no longer needed come second to the queen's needs. A dragon had come to Volantis, not just any dragon, but the destroyer of King's Landing, and the city did not breathe easy. Speculation was on every set of lips. But the Mother of Dragons was dead, and outside the temple that was known to all. For the first time in her life, her mere existence was a threat to no one. No hired knives came in the middle of the night for dead queens. And it was true, after a fashion. The queen had died, but the girl had lived.

And the girl, with a simple cloak and simply braided hair, left the temple for the first time. Again the red priests had offered guards, Kinvara had come very close to insisting, but again Daenerys refused. She was just one of a thousand Valyrian girls in a once Valyrian city, why would she need guards, she was not fool enough to brandish the modest purse of silver the temple had given her in a fashion that reminded her uncomfortably of her and Viserys' days as royal beggers. The voice of the queen she had been nagged in her head, _all of those benefactors had wanted something from you, these red priests will too. How long will they support a "savior" who refuses to lead their holy war?_ Even as she walked towards the market she could see yet another regiment of the Lord of Light's soldiers, these from Lys by the look of them, marching towards the temple. The Fiery Hand's numbers grew every day.

But if she was not their queen, where would she go? Back to Meereen seemed the most obvious and logical option. Back to Daario. But could she face him? Could she tell him what had happened? Could she bear the disgust with which he would look at her? Was he even still there? Had he found someone else? She could not blame him. For the moment, she put Meereen from her mind. Weaving through the crowds and market stands, Daenerys smelled fresh lemons, handing a fruit vendor a few coins for one, her thoughts drifted to Braavos, and a house with a red door that had once been home. She had money. Wars were not cheap, and before sailing for Westeros she had transferred gold from Meereen's treasuries to several banks to finance her campaign. Much of it would still be there, thousands of times what she would need to simply buy the house with the red door no matter what price was asked for it. It would be a risk to claim it, but there were bankers who locked away secrets as well as gold. She could simply live out her days as an ordinary, though wealthy, woman of Braavos. ....But of course, where was Drogon in this fantasy? He was not a dog she could simply fence in a yard, and whatever he had helped her do, he was still her child.

The cry startled her so abruptly that Daenerys dropped her lemon before even having a chance to enjoy its scent. A scream of pain that reminded her so terribly of the ones that woke her in the night. A short, hairy brute of a man had thrown a slave girl to the ground and was kicking her as she wailed. Dany had no idea why, it was surely something trivial, it always was with men like this. But why didn't matter. By instinct, the girl vanished, and the queen returned. "STOP!", Daenerys commanded, a sheer reflex, uttered without considering that she was no queen anymore, and had no one to enforce her orders. Her demeanor still radiated authority, enough to make the girl's master pause and step back, just for a moment, long enough for Dany to rush to her side. The absurdity of her situation struck her. What right had she to indignation anymore? She had done far worse than this man. The realization was crushing, but still she remained determined to reclaim some small piece of the person she had been. The master's anger had returned though, and he looked as if he might strike her to get to his slave. "I can buy her from you!", Daenerys offered, holding out her coin purse. "This is plenty, surely, for a slave with whom you are so dissatisfied!" The man looked, for a moment, like he was considering the offer, then simply snatched the purse from Dany's hands. "Or I can take your money and I keep my slave! The guards will not care, I am an important man and you got in my way."

Fury rose within Daenerys, and a roar answered it as leather wings rose above the temple courtyard. Daenerys knew what was coming, she felt as she had felt that day in the pit at Meereen, and so many days after. And she knew that she could walk away, but she didn't. She made her choice, as Drogon flew towards the market square, the crowd scattering as his great bulk landed behind her, crushing several stands. She would repay those vendors for their lost wares, after today it would no longer matter where she claimed the gold. _Dracarys_ , she thought, but when she opened her mouth to say the word, it did not come to her. She froze, unable to bear the thought of smelling burning flesh again. It did not matter, the master dropped her coins and ran, and as he did she smelled something near as foul. Her heart shattered as the girl she had saved realized who she was, and fled in equal terror. _I chose fear_ , she thought, _I cannot blame those who fear me._

Drogon lowered his wing and Daenerys climbed onto his back. It was harder than she remembered, was she still weak from death, or was Drogon growing even larger? She sighed as his great wings beat and he took to the air, and allowed herself a moment to mourn the fleeting fantasy that the queen could die while the girl lived. It felt good, at least, to remember who she was, and that she would never be able to stand idle while the wheel still turned, unbroken. After today, word would spread faster than dragonfire that Daenerys Stormborn lived. _Let it_ , she thought. The notion of her betrayers in Westeros getting that raven, of the cold spike of fear in THEIR hearts...she would never return, but at least in that she could take small satisfaction.

\-----

Curled up against Drogon's warm scales, in a blasted Rhoynish ruin north of Volantis, Daenerys slept better, and longer, than she had since her resurrection, but still her dreams were haunted. This time, not by the burning of King's Landing, but by the path that lead her there, all the way back to Mirri Maz Duur, the first person she had ever burned. Had that one death sent her down a slippery slope to all those others? Was it inevitable? She was hardly the first ruler ever to execute an enemy, and hardly would have been the first to rule justly after doing so...but she had enjoyed it. She had enjoyed watching her burn. She had always assumed, after what Mirri Maz Duur had done to her, anyone would have found satisfaction in vengeance. But now she questioned that, now she questioned everything. And after she woke, a chill came over her as she suddenly remembered something else Mirri Maz Duur had once said to her. She mounted her dragon with great urgency. "Drogon, valahd!"

Kinvara had been in silent prayer before her flames, almost in a trance, before the doors of her sanctum burst open and Daenerys stormed in. Two Fiery Hand guards rushed after her, anyone else they would have stopped at spearpoint if need be, but if her ostensible status as Azor Ahai were not enough to deter them, her dragon certainly had been.

"Whose death paid for my life?", Daenerys loudly demanded.

Kinvara turned and paused, Daenerys guessing she was making a snap judgement whether she could lie and get away with it, but she opted for honesty. "A virtuous and devout servant of the Lord. He was one of many who begged for the honor of sacrificing themselves that Azor Ahai might live."

Daenerys looked less than satisfied with the response. "Was he a free man, or a slave?"

"We are all servants of the Lord", Kinvara replied, "Even you and I."

"A free man, or a slave?" Clearly, she would not be deterred, and Kinvara conceded. "He was a slave, your Grace."

Dany had one more question. "What was his name?"

And Kinvara had no answer. The pall of that silence hung between them for what seemed like forever, as though Kinvara feared the next words she chose might doom all of Volantis, as King's Landing had been doomed. The only person more afraid of that outcome than Kinvara was Daenerys herself. Dany fought down the anger and self-hatred, and said simply, "There will be no more slaves in this temple, or in any other red temple. Anyone who wishes to leave and make their way in the world will be given food, coin, and your blessing to do so, today." Before Kinvara could respond, Daenerys cut her off. "Am I the Lord's chosen, or am I not?" At that, Kinvara had to relent.

"Your command will be carried out, your Grace. Does this mean you have accepted your role as Azor Ahai come again?"

Dany responded only, "I have accepted that YOU believe I am Azor Ahai. But I know two others who've been told the same. I know the story of Lightbringer, and I know that I seem more to be Nissa Nissa. Others have been told they possessed Lightbringer as well, and near two thousand of my bloodriders died of overconfidence thanks to blood magic and flaming swords. I am keenly aware of what you have done for me, but I will not be used or made a figurehead. The Night King is dead, at the hand of a girl with no flaming sword, never born amidst smoke or salt. What need has the world now for Azor Ahai? Or for what you pass for Lightbringer?"

Kinvara brushed her hand past her flames and they seemed to jump in fearsome shapes, like monsters from childhood nightmares whose names Dany could only ever almost recall. "The Night King was only a man. A man given terrible power, but a man. Have you walked beyond the shadow lands? Have you beheld the demons of Stygai or the ice dragons of the white waste? The enemy has been delayed, not defeated. The night is still dark, and so very many terrors remain. There are many who have fulfilled parts of the prophecy, yes, but you and you alone have woken dragons out of stone. And you could do it again. With three dragons you conquered a continent. What could we accomplish with three hundred?"

 _We_. And there it was, the reason. Kinvara seemed to immediately regret her choice of words and called after Dany, but it was too late, as she stormed from the room and then, on Drogon's back, the city entire.

\-----

Daenerys' head was clearer in the air. Drogon circled the city walls once before flying inland. Daenerys didn't direct him, content to think and let him take her where he may. At best, Kinvara had an agenda of her own, at worst, the Daenerys she thought she was bringing back was the one who had burned King's Landing, a mad puppet to unleash against all those she deemed non-believers and heretics. The truth was, Dany had no idea how she had given life to her dragons, had she the ability to do so at will, she WOULD have sailed for Westeros with three hundred dragons instead of three...or at least as many as she could find eggs. But Kinvara did not know that. Could she, nevertheless, truly be the subject of this prophecy over which so much blood had been spilled? She had long known it was her destiny to change the world. _I also lost my mind and butchered my own subjects_ , she thought, grimly. She could not trust her own beliefs, her own thoughts, least of all such dangerous ones. Not anymore. She was not the first to be proclaimed the Prince who was Promised, and, she reasoned, she would not be the last. Kinvara and her disciples would prop up ruler after ruler, looking for a person to fill the role of Azor Ahai until they found one. How much destruction would their search bring to the world? If she accepted it, she could control it, make something good of it instead of...could Kinvara still believe Dany would take her army to Westeros and reclaim it? No matter how many times she said she would not?

She could stop this, she knew. Last she had heard, Grey Worm and the Unsullied had sailed for Naath. If she wished, she could go there right now, simply take Drogon south and reach Naath within a week. Perhaps she would even reach the island first...she imagined the look on Grey Worm's face at the sight of her alive and smiled. Qyburn was dead and every one of his monstrous devices was dust, they would never trouble her again. With Drogon and the Unsullied she could TAKE Volantis, and end whatever the red priests and their fiery hand were planning before it began, with fire and....

A chill washed over Dany, colder than the Night King's ice storms. She had told herself she could never ride Drogon again, and here she was, a thousand feet above the fields of Essos. She had told herself she could never be a queen again, and she was already planning her next conquest. _I told myself I will not return to Westeros, how much longer will that last than the rest of my empty promises?_ She would not, could not, unleash Grey Worm and Drogon on another city to "liberate". Fire and Blood would be a last resort, they had to be.

Drogon screeched and lurched downwards, Dany pulled from her thoughts instantly as she grabbed tight onto his spines, the great beast descending on a herd of elephants, sending them stampeding in all directions as his flames engulfed one of the stragglers, Drogon bearing down on it with claws and teeth to secure his kill. The smell of burning flesh panicked Dany, and she slid from Drogon's back as he began to feast, feeling as though her vomiting might return. She fought the urge down at the last moment and steeled herself. She would have to overcome this fear, and now was as good a time as any. So she breathed deep, and she wept, but she did not hide from what she had done. Varys' spies had told her of Cersei's disappointment when the Golden Company reneged on its promise of war elephants. Daenerys could not help but think of that now. All the elephants in the world would not have saved her. To Drogon they would only have been food. _But Cersei Lannister is rotting in the dirt somewhere, and somehow I am not._ She touched the wound over her heart through her dress, it was little more than a scar now. _I have better things to think about than hating her ghost._

She had come to accept that she had to at least play the part of Azor Ahai, the queen of the rabbits wearing her floppy ears, but to what end? Westeros did not need her, but perhaps Essos did, so many slaves were still in chains throughout the "free" cities, so many lives lost in their endless wars. Perhaps she could unite them as her ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, had the Seven Kingdoms. But it was Aegon himself who had once stopped Volantis from doing exactly that. Why? Why had he done that, only to do exactly the same across the sea? Was it simple hypocrisy, or some larger plan? Had he known something she did not? Daenerys petted Drogon's muzzle as he finished his meal. "You knew exactly where to bring me, how to save me. You understand so much more than any of us realize, even me, don't you?" Drogon snorted and licked the blood from his jaws. She did not know if that was an acknowledgement. "You're the only one left who I can trust completely....what would you have me do?" Daenerys stopped, unsure whether to laugh or cry. _I'm asking a dragon for strategic advice. Will I name him Hand of the Queen next? I truly AM as mad as my father and brother._ At least she could take solace that if this were madness, surely she would have thought it reason. But still, it was a decision she would have to make on her own, if Drogon had any thoughts on the subject, he had little way of communicating them. But then, with the thought of Viserys, an answer struck her, and a way to at least begin forgiving herself. She pulled a long tooth from the elephant's carcass, one of Drogon's, snapped against a bone, though dragons forever grew more and larger teeth. With it, she began to saw at her own hair, slicing off her braid and throwing it down at her feet, not to symbolize her death at Jon Snow's hand, but the defeat of the person she hoped to be at the hands of the madness that had consumed her in King's Landing. This would be penance, and a reminder never to lose that battle again. It would not be her only one. She was ready to return to Volantis.

Kinvara had shown no surprise at her return and "agreement" that she was Azor Ahai reborn. Perhaps she had seen it all in her flames. The vast temple plaza was filled with soldiers, free soldiers now though few, fanatics that they were, had taken up the offer to depart. Daenerys stood before the temple gates along with Kinvara, her most devoted priests, and of course behind them, Drogon. "Bring forth Lightbringer, the red blade of heroes!", intoned Kinvara, and Jon's dagger, still red and flaming, was carried out by two priests. This time, they held it with blacksmith's tongs, Daenerys had made clear that she would not see anyone else mutilated in the name of spectacle. Dany took the blade as they knelt before her and offered it up. To her hand, it was merely a pleasant warmth, and she seemed to understand that she could control its flames. _Could the legend be true? Was some piece of her own soul fused to this blade?_ "The prophecies of your order say that Azor Ahai will return, to make the world anew!", Daenerys spoke loudly, so that all across the plaza could hear her. "But I cannot do that alone! Every one of you was sold to this temple as a child, I mean for that to end, for the free cities to truly be FREE! I stood once, in a plaza much like this one, and asked those I had freed to fight for me, against MY enemies. Today, I am here to fight for you, against YOUR enemies, for all those being crushed beneath the wheel!" The soldiers were silent, and Daenerys could tell she did not have them...not yet...not if they ever had to choose between her orders and Kinvara's. But she knew how to. "The prophecy says that Azor Ahai shall pull Lightbringer from the flames, and I have not done this! So I reject that this is Lightbringer!" Kinvara flashed a shocked look at Daenerys as she suddenly veered from the message the priestess had expected, Dany cupping her hands with the dagger between them and held it aloft above her head. "Dracarys." Drogon lowered his head, trilled, and unleashed his fire, flames engulfing Dany's hands and blasting across the plaza above the heads of the soldiers, many of whom dove to one side in surprise, breaking ranks. The heat of Drogon's fire was only just bearable, Dany's sleeves turned to ash in an instant as dragonfire tested the limits of her own resilience. When the Doom came to Valyria, even dragons burned. Kinvara almost grabbed her in horror as she destroyed what was meant to be the symbol of her power, backing away at the last second unable to stand the heat. As the dagger melted and liquid metal ran between her palms, Daenerys tilted her head back and allowed it to drip down onto her forehead, turning her head slowly and crowning herself as Viserys had once been crowned. But she was a true dragon, and was unharmed as the molten steel began to set and harden, just enough to create a circlet around her head, one which still glowed red with heat, flames dancing from it like the points of a crown. "THIS will be my Lightbringer, pulled from the flames!" The Fiery Hand, and many of the red priests, fell to their knees. "AZOR AHAI! AZOR AHAI! AZOR AHAI!", they chanted. As Aegon the Conqueror had forged the iron throne from the very weapons once wielded against him, this would also be HER iron throne, and like the throne's many points and edges, an everlasting reminder of the burden of power. She could quench the flames and the heat, but this would be a crown she could never take off. Her head might never rest comfortably again, but a queen could not afford to. She turned to Kinvara, who had not knelt, but still gazed at her in a mix of awe and frustration. Daenerys' lips curled into a smile. "Shall we begin?"


End file.
